


So You've Discovered Your Cat is a District Attorney

by TerraCottaNightmare



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: And it's bad, Canon Temporary Character Death, Chase Brody is Depressed, Depression, Dissociation, Fluff, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I tried to write with an accent, I want to apologize to all of Ireland, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Short Chapters, They/Them Pronouns for Y/N, Unbeta'ed, Y/N is a Cat, almost pure fluff, an attempt was made, and I'm sorry, minor blood and injury but no descriptions, unedited, vague magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraCottaNightmare/pseuds/TerraCottaNightmare
Summary: Chase finds a kitten and takes them home. This affects far more than it should.
Relationships: Bingiplier (Markplier TV)/Chase Brody, Chase Brody & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Henrik von Schneeplestein & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Jackieboy Man & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Jameson Jackson & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Marvin the Magnificent & Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Minor or Background Relationship(s), We shall see - Relationship, possibly some pairings later
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Whiskers on Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this in one sitting and have barely even read it over but I physically cannot contain it any longer ^^" hope you like it!

_You aren’t sure how long it’s been. Years, definitely-- though the clock on the far wall had stopped chiming an eternity ago, the sheer devastation of the house is clue enough to that end. Holes dot the ceiling where the roof had crumbled under its own weight, letting in sunlight and rain and even snow, once or twice, weathering the once lavish decór and leeching what little color remained. The floor looks unstable, and when the earthquakes had come it had cracked and groaned and it was all you could do to hug yourself and hope the tremors didn’t shake your frame right off the wall. The mirror may be a prison, but you have no interest in knowing what would happen should the damn thing shatter entirely._

_No one has come, which almost surprises you to think about. What is it about this house, you wonder, that not even the desperate will try to rob it? The last person to leave had been Abe, staggering out the door and coated in his own blood but blessedly_ alive _and even as he passed you by, leaving you to your fate, you could only feel relief that the man was going to make it out of the house. At least one of you should._

_Even animals avoided the place, which you could hardly blame them for. The manor had always felt cold, wrong, even before you’d been plunged into this world of whispers and screams and freezing, biting, blinding_ cold _. No birds nested in the rafters, no foxes or badgers found their way down the cellar stairs, and no possums took refuge in the closets._

_Until now._

_You almost don’t see them-- the oppressive darkness of the mirror has improved your night vision, yes, but the cat is small, bedraggled, and sticks close to the walls. You think they must be little more than a kitten, a small thing that may be a tabby beneath all the muck matting their thick fur. Big blue eyes reflect up at you when you move, sending them jittering back into the middle of the room with a startled hiss._

_Despite yourself, you smile. So long with no one but yourself leaves you with no choice but to adore the little thing, brave enough to wander the ruin… or perhaps desperate enough. And as the kitten trembles there, paws shifting on the very spot your blood stained so long ago, you’re sure to be gentle as a breeze as you enter their mind and_ ask.

*************

Chase is visiting Bing for the weekend, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so…  _ okay. _ The android doesn’t mind when he gets loud, laughs at his jokes, even tries to make him feel better when he sees a kid playing with their parents and he breaks down in the middle of a halfpipe. So it’s no shock that, given the option of staying quietly in his room for an entire two days so that the others can get the new guy adjusted to existing in a world with more than just background music or taking a mini-vacation, he decides to hitch a ride to America with Jackie so he can meet up with his best bro.

Even when the android says that he’s on Jim duty and therefore they have to babysit the reporters as they scurry around like crabs on the grounds of the creepiest old house he’s ever seen in his life, he’s grinning wider than he has since he manifested that first time and he learned that it was all just a story, his kids, his  _ life-- _

_ Anyway. _

He’s joking and laughing with Bing as the twins pause by the crumbled remains of a gazebo, the one with the microphone babbling about the hundred-year anniversary of some party too fast for either of them to catch, when he spots it.

The kitten startles him, little head appearing over the edge of a long-drained pool and letting out such a mournful, pathetic sounding cry that he doesn’t even think until he’s crouching down in front of them and they're scurrying back, right down off the built-in stairs and into a puddle of muck that may once have been leaves. He winces in sympathy as the thing lets out a caterwaul, shockingly loud for such a little scrap of fur.

“Sorry little buddy, didn’ mean ta scare ya,'' He moves back, keeping the kitten in sight but giving them space. He blinks in shock as he registers for the first time that the little thing has purple eyes-- blue-purple, but purple all the same, shimmering in the fading autumn light like hand-blown glass. Said eyes meet his in a truly impressive glower as they heave themself back up onto the lowest step, deliberately shaking off each paw to try and rid them of the murky water.

A harsh wind cuts across the patio, slicing through his jacket like it isn’t there and causing him to let out a full-body shiver. The kitten lets out another pathetic sound as they crouch low, trying to hide from the freezing gale behind the step and clearly failing. And suddenly all he can think of is his youngest, big blue eyes staring up at him and complaining that, “It’s  _ cold,  _ Daddy--”

“Hey,” he murmurs, words all but ripped from his mouth by the wind, “Where’s yer mama, huh?”

The kitten’s eyes flash back to his, unblinking. They hunker down, seemingly accepting their fate as the wind buffets the poor creature this way and that. They're covered in dust and dirt, thick fur matted and dull. Even as fluffy as they are, he can tell the creature is far too thin.

“Do you not have one?”

Obviously, the kitten doesn’t answer. They blink at him, once, twice, and then, with seemingly Herculean effort, they clamber up to perch on the next step up. They're close enough now for him to see faint stripes along its back and sides-- a tabby. A little tabby kitten with the biggest, most expressive eyes he’s ever seen.

It feels like hours but after lots of cooing and cajoling and the longest time he’s ever willingly sat still and been quiet, the little thing allows him to lift them from his lap and into his arms, his arms that still remember how to hold small things safely and securely even though his family  _ never existed-- _

And when the Jims tire of their story and start packing up, and Bing calls Silver and Jackie for a pick-up, it’s with an extra passenger.


	2. The Least Realistic Cat Bath Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bathing cats suuuuuucks. My boy-- the clamest, most chill cat on the planet-- flipped his shit the second my mom tried to bathe him. The cats hate water thing is not exaggerated by much.

The kitten does fairly well with the flying, he’s shocked to see. They, he’s decided, since the critter takes a snap at him when he tries to figure out their sex, and since the little thing undoubtedly gives no cares about how they’re gendered he’ll just go with they-- just burrow into his arms and cling, and he’s too busy stroking their back and grimacing at the greasy feel of their fur to worry too much about the tiny claws making dents in his arms until long after they land. The Iplier mansion is for once, quiet, most of the more prominent egos off filming some project or other and the remaining few being the types to keep to their own spaces outside of meetings and meals.

Bing follows Chase back to the guest room that's all but his by now, alternating between listing cat care tips and cooing at the little beast. He doesn’t try to pet them, though-- the kitten had taken one look at him and attempted to crawl up Chase’s sleeve, whining piteously. Bing hadn’t taken it personally, but made sure to keep back from the kitten lest his presence prove unwelcome. Chase kind of missed the easy closeness of the android, the way he’d crowd into his space and sling an arm around his shoulder and clap him on the back, but the shivering ball of fluff in his arms was his top priority at the moment.

“Okay little dude, I’m no’ sure how ya feel ‘bout water but I’m gonna have ta give ya a bath if yer gonna stay. Bing, will my soap do anythin’ bad to ‘em or--?” Chase pauses by the sink, looking back over his shoulder at his android shadow.

“Should be fine my guy, just be careful not to get it in their eyes. You want me to find something the lil dude can eat while you wash ‘em up?”

The kitten seems to perk up at the sound of Bing’s voice, looking him over with a critical eye. At the mention of food, they let out a tiny, adorable little mew before stepping daintily out of Chase’s arms and onto the counter. Slowly, meticulously, they make their way to the corner closest to Bing, stretching their little head towards him and mewing, as if asking him to move closer.

Bing shares an inquiring look with Chase before the kitten mews again, more instantly this time, and makes a grab for his shirt, nearly falling in the process. He shrugs and moves closer, obligingly holding out a hand for the kitten to sniff. Big purple eyes blink up at him, a smile, his databanks tell him, before the little bundle of fluff treks back over to the sink and sits primly down next to the drain.

Bing shakes his head before heading down to the kitchen to round up some ham or something. This is most  _ definitely not _ normal cat behavior… but it  _ is _ adorable.

Chase digs up an old washcloth, adjusts the water to be warm but not hot, and finally sets about cleaning the poor bedraggled creature. The kitten grumbles and grumps and just about takes his hand off when he goes to clean their belly fur, but with the help of a spare comb and a liberal amount of conditioner, the water runs clear. He’s gently drying the kitten-- and he really should think of something to call them, besides “the kitten”-- when Bing returns with a small bowl of water and some diced ham. Luckily, the kitten seems fully capable of eating solid foods as they fall on each bit that the two place down for them, until finally they turn up their little nose and curl up on Chase’s pillow. Their nose is a delicate pink, as are most of their paw pads, a distinct difference from their dark fur. Damp as they are, they almost look black against the pale blue pillowcase, their kitten fluff almost disguising their tabby stripes.

“So… You have a cat now? Or are ya gonna drop ‘em off at the shelter?” Bing breaks the silence, turning to face his friend.

Chase’s eyes flicker back to the kitten. For a moment, he considers it-- his place is loud, and stressful, and what with the new arrival and their… glitchy situation, would it really be responsible of him to throw an animal into that chaos? And would he really be able to care for it, when more than a few of his days blend together in a haze of whiskey and grey?

The kitten snuffles. Sneezes. Curls tighter into a ball and tucks their nose into their tail. And suddenly he’s seeing his youngest again, curled up and sleeping on the arm of the couch with a thumb in their mouth. Imagines dropping this little scrap of fur off at a shelter, cold and alone and confused and _ not knowing where he went _ \--

“Nah, I’mma keep ‘em.” He tries to play it off, act casual, but Bing’s always been able to see right through him. He offers a side hug, and Chase doesn’t hesitate to snuggle into his side. “I’ll have ta let the others know I’m comin’ home with cargo, if Jackie hasn’t gone an’ tattled on me.”

Bing hums, warm against his side, and then he grins down at him. For all that they’re functionally the same height, Chase’s head on his shoulder puts him higher up for the moment. “Whatcha gonna call the little dude? Or dudette?”

There’s only one answer to that question. “Sam,” he mumbles, swiftly going the same way as the kitten on his pillow. “They’re gonna be Sam.”

  
  


*************

  
  


_ Being a cat is… Odd. Not bad, a million times better than the mirror, but odd nonetheless. You find yourself acting on instincts that feel jarring, fighting the urge to  _ run-hide-getaway  _ when the vaguely familiar man draws close and forcing yourself closer as he coaxes you into his arms. Flying is an exercise in control as you fight the need to thrash and scream and stop-it-stop-it _ -STOP-IT-

_ And then you’re faced with a painfully familiar face and you can’t breathe. _

_ He’s big, so much bigger than you in your current state, and he doesn’t look the same-- vision doesn’t work the same way, you’ve found, and you don’t even want to get into the sense of smell-- but it’s him. It’s Mark. Somehow, after all this time, he looks just the same as he did all those years ago. The one holding you-- Chase, you think, though you don’t understand half of what either of them are saying and you aren’t sure if it’s the stress, the fact that you’re a cat, or if the language has just changed that much since you were locked away-- coos and pulls you down out of his sleeve, and Mark doesn’t try to touch you again, and you allow yourself to calm. _

_ Until, that is, you realize something odd. _

_ Mark doesn’t smell like he should. Rather than living-warm-human, you catch only hints of metal-oil-hot plastic. And traces of Chase, which makes sense based on how touchy the two had been before they’d found you. Even now he seems drawn forward, magnetically pulled into the other man’s orbit, and it hurts somewhere deep down inside to remember a man who seemed to do the same with you so long ago-- _

_ You blink, hard, then a few more times to convey acceptance of this-- Bing, did he say?-- and resign yourself to a bath. Truly, you need one-- badly. Not that you have to be gracious about it; after so long you think you’ve earned a bit of a tantrum. _

  
_ And, as you drift off on this strangers pillow, watching the two laugh and joke, content in a casual embrace, you try not to think of what it felt like when the man with Bing’s face held  _ you _ that way. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could be sorry about the ending, the angst came for me once more. What do you think so far? :D


	3. *stares at this story's timeline in shock and horror before giving up completely*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look all I'm going with the 'slightly alternate dimension divorced from reality' option and no one can question me, I have no idea when this takes place and I refuse to try and set it against any kind of realistic timeframe.

Chase can tell the moment Jackie registers the kitten in his arms; his eyebrows shoot up from under his mask and he fixes him with a look.

“Schneep said he’s fine with it ‘s long as they stay out o’ his stuff, as is the new guy. Marvin… didn’ answer, but he’s off on some magic thing fer the newbie apparently, and I’m askin’ ya now-- can I please keep this adorable lil kitten?” Chase holds up the fuzz ball, doing his best to imitate a sad puppy. Sam, held aloft in Jackie’s face like Simba in the Lion King, reaches out a single soft paw and presses it to Jackie’s nose.

“... Lil charmer. Fine, but yer dealin’ with anythin’ it coughs up or… brings back.” Jackie reaches up to move the paw off his face, only for the kitten to pull in his hand and rub against it. Their eyes met his, and they almost seemed to smile at his (undoubtedly painfully sappy) expression.

Chase beams, shifting the kitten back into his hold with practiced ease, and Jackie can’t feel bad about his decision, no matter how much chaos a kitten will surely add to their household. Not when they make Chase smile like  _ that. _

The flight home is short, and the second they arrive the kitten bounds down to the floor, poking about the furniture and investigating every object they find. Chase settles down right there on the floor to just… watch them, for a bit, the way their tail flickers with excitement when they find something interesting, laughing as they just barely make the leap from the floor to the couch and laughing harder when they stare back at him with eyes full of betrayal. They’re an expressive little thing, for sure.

And that’s how the new guy-- who’s name he just now realizes he doesn’t know-- finds him an hour later, camped on the floor and trailing around a stray hoodie string for Sam to viciously attack. They’re careful of his fingers, only ever batting with soft paws, but the second their eyes lock onto the string their pupils go huge and they’re bowling themself over just to get at it.

“Oh, hi!” Chase makes a concerted effort to keep himself quiet. New guy isn’t good with loud noises, which… honestly is going to suck, since he’s stuck with some of the loudest people in existence. “I’m Chase, Chase Brody. And this…” Sam goes for the string, tumbles, and keeps rolling, ending up half under the couch, “This lil puffball is Sam.”

New guy pulls out a notebook and an old fashioned pen, scribbles something down, and turns it so Chase can read it. ‘Hello Chase, a pleasure to make your acquaintance! My name is Jameson Jackson.’

“Jameson Jackson, eh? Ye could go by JJ fer short.”

Jameson looks far away for a moment, moustache drooping on the ends with his frown, before bouncing back and scrawling something else down. ‘JJ is a nickname of mine, yes! Feel free to call me that, if you wish!’

Sam finally frees themself of the couch and settles onto their hind legs to clean their chest, in the most pathetic attempt at playing it cool Chase has ever seen (and he once watched Eric try and sneak a litter of puppies past Dark). They blink up at JJ, head tilting as they sniff at him.

And then, suddenly, their eyes are wide and they’re winding around his legs, meowing up at him and pressing their paws to his leg and all but climbing him in their excitement. JJ’s eyes go wide at the display, before his lips quirk up and he plucks the kitten from the ground. He mouths something, and Sam blinks a few times before purring and headbutting him right in the chin.

Chase might’ve felt jealous that  _ his _ kitten has taken to JJ so quickly if not for the fact that his new kitten and newest brother in combination are possibly the cutest thing he’s seen since he’d first appeared. Sam is doing their level best to curl up in the space between JJ’s chin and his bowtie, and the ego, who seems incapable of making noise, is all the same clearly giggling as their fur tickles him. His mustache twitches this way and that, and Sam reaches up to gently bat at it, and just like that Chase decides that he doesn’t mind being a bit quieter for the sake of their new arrival.

  
  


*************

  
  


_ For all that you’re human, you are also now, for better or for worse, a cat. A baby cat. And so, though part of you scoffs at the idea of chasing a bit of string, the bigger part of you is busy reveling in your freedom. You can walk, and run, and jump, and  _ touch things. _ And sure, you don’t know what half of the things you see are, and you’re surrounded by strangers, and you’re so very small, and you can’t talk-- but you’re free. You’re  _ free.

_ Not just of the mirror, either. You feel the calmest, the most relaxed that you’ve felt since you realized that you didn’t have a gender, that everything you said and did could and would be held against you, since Damien endorsed you for the next District Attorney and you suddenly had a million eyes on you, tracking and judging every little thing you did. _

_ And now you can fall all over yourself chasing string, letting the kitten (and Sam is a good name for your fellow passenger, you’ll admit) out to play and revel in the safe-warm-full-happy, until the new man appears. _

_ And then you remember why Chase looks so familiar. _

_ Freshman year of college, when you and Damien were still getting used to each other and Mark was still-- well,  _ relatively _ tolerable at least, he’d had a roommate. An Irishman, prim and proper and actually rather pleasant-- Which, of course, meant that Mark drove him up the wall. He’d spent most of that year sleeping on the couch in your dorms, before requesting and getting a transfer and (thankfully) ending up with someone more suited to his personality. He’d moved back to Ireland after school, and though you’d kept in touch, it was far from the comradery you’d once shared. _

_ And now, here he is-- in person, for the first time in so, so long. _

_ You forget decorum. You throw dignity out the window. You tell propriety to piss off. And you snuggle the hell out of one of your closest friends, one of few who hasn’t horribly betrayed you, and wonder if you’ll ever be able to speak to him again. _

_ You hope so. _

_ You really hope so. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Wilford can just say "nothing makes sense and that's probably fine", so can I dammit


	4. The One Where Chase's Mental Health Issues Rear Their Ugly Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of depression, dissociation, and vague references to alcoholism in this chapter. Like the whole thing. It's not super important if you need to skip. Be safe buds <3

The rush of getting Sam lasts a good long while-- nearly four months.

And then he realizes he's forgotten his Greyson’s birthday.

The world slams to a stop, and he nearly falls to his knees as he sees the date. Just like that, the grey is back, closing in on him, and gosh he’s a terrible father, he’s awful how could he _ how could he-- _

He barely eats, doesn’t sleep, only moves to use the bathroom and fetch more whiskey. The others avoid him (dimly he hears Jackie explaining things to JJ, the new guy, the baby of the family,  _ his family, they have so many uncles would they like JJ or Marvin the most he wonders-- _ ), which he gladly makes fairly easy for them to do. Marvin is still gone, off on a research tangent or something, as much a feral cat as his mask makes him out to be, but he’ll blow back in eventually at some odd hour, he’s sure. Bing stops in, once, says nothing, just sits and holds him while he cries. And screams. And passes out on his shoulder. He leaves with a frown that sits wrong on his face, summoned home by Dark and clearly highly unhappy about it.

And, through it all, Sam is there. He’s not fully there all the time, but he gets flashes-- their rough little tongue trying to groom his greasy hair into some sort of order, them ducking between him and a bottle once or twice, a little ball of fluff meowing and insisting he gets up and feeds them and even plays with them once of twice. They chase NERF darts, bring them back to him, fetching like a dog, and it’s so cute and funny that it summons a small smile to his face.

Like always, he’s slow to emerge, but emerge he does, one thing at a time. He showers. Changes the sheets. Eats what he can. Drinks something other than whiskey for the first time in far, far too long. And when he blinks and comes back to himself, well and truly, to find Sam curled into a tiny ball of tabby fluff in his upturned hat? He smiles, really smiles, for the first time in weeks.

  
  


*************

  
  


_ You do what you can, those long weeks when it almost seems to physically get darker, when Chase caves in on himself. You force him up at least once a day, despite the fact that there were plenty of other people available to care for the kitten’s needs. You snuggle him when he stares at the wall, do your best to keep him from the bottle when he’s had enough, hunt down the doctor and tug at his pant leg until he follows you, water and ibuprofen in hand to force a few crackers into him, and then forcing the doctor to take a break for good measure. “Napping” on his paperwork has proven extremely effective in that department, because Sam the kitten is very much on board with caring for their people. _

_ The others don’t quite know how to help, you know. The fog enveloping Chase is dark, thick. They look at it, and then the flashlights in their hands, and feel helpless, hopeless. And it hurts to see, because once that was you, shining a flashlight into space and searching for your friend who used to shine as bright as a sun until he fell as surely as any star, practically into your lap.  _

_ You refuse to lose another friend. _

_You rejoice when Jackie fetches Bing, all but spew acid when a cold,_ familiar _voice calls him away scarcely two days later. The only consolation is that Bing looks about as happy about it as you are. Still, though, Chase stews in his mire, surfing only once or twice. It’s worth almost getting hit with a soft dart to see his lips twitch when you trot back like a dog with a stick._

_ He comes back, little by little, and it’s then that you decide that, come Hell or high water, you’ll find a way to be a person again. Because it’s very hard to hug someone when you fit in the palm of their hand. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Chase forgets one of his kids' birthdays and spirals pretty hard. Y/N hears a vaguely familiar voice telling Bing to come back from visiting Chase.


	5. Someone Messes Up a Spell, The Cat May or May Not be Magic, and JJ Can Actually Talk Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvin is absolutely the friend that you can't take into a bookstore because by the tiem you find him he's got three carts worth of books and has created a nest on the top shelf. And also three days have passed.

Marvin turns back up in a cloud of glitter and dust about six months after JJ’d first appeared. As expected, he’d found an interesting topic of study and fixated, hardly noticing the passage of time until the locals had gotten sick of him camping out in their library at all hours and changed the wards to kick him out. He’s all but vibrating with energy, and if it wasn’t 3 in the morning, Chase might be happier to see him. As it is, he’s more annoyed than anything, especially since his sudden arrival had scared Sam enough that the kitten (more like cat, now, though he suspects Sam will always be tiny) had taken off to hide under the couch, thus robbing him of his daily dose of purrs.

Chase groans and curses himself. He should’ve known falling asleep on the couch was a bad idea, but Sam had been curled up on his chest and so warm and happy and moving a happy cat, he’s found, is akin to murder in the eyes of said cat.

And Marvin still. Hasn’t. Stopped. Talking.

“Marvin. Bud. It’s good ta seeya. But please shut the fuck up.”

Marvin blinks at him. Tilts his head. For a moment he looks just like Sam, though his eyes are far too green and hold no purple at all.

“Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Right. Time zones.” At least the magician seems apologetic this time. Chase still contemplates shooting him with NERF darts until he learns to never, ever wake him up again. The mental image of Sam fetching his ammo is cute enough to save the other ego… for now.

“Still! We should get this done soon as possible, though, ‘r else we’re gonna have ta wait ‘til next month, ya happen ta know where the new guy’s room is?” Chase uses one pillow to cover his ears and throws the other at Marvin, as hard as he can. “On second thought I’ll go find ‘im myself--”

Several minutes later, after Chase has given up all hope of getting back to sleep and Marvin has awoken everyone and faced the consequences for waking everyone, the magician (seemingly uncaring about the pen stuck between his mask string and his ear, undoubtedly thrown at him by Schneep) babbling on about some sort of ritual under the full moon and it’s all Chase can do not to scream as he explains that, no they can’t go back to bed, he needs them to act as anchors.

“See, I barely know-- erm, sorry, didn’ catch yer name when I was wakin’ ya up. No, I don’t think tha’s yer name, though knowin’ Jack I guess it could be-- JJ, thank ya Schneep!-- I barely know JJ, but you three know ‘im plenty, and I know you! So, I cast my spell, you act as a bridge ‘tween the two of us, an’ JJ has a way ta talk that kills less trees!”

Chase sighs, but the look of tentative hope on JJ’s face is enough to quit complaining. They’ve not even had JJ a year, but none of them can deny the youngest ego anything, lest he get all droopy and sad. At Marvin’s prompting, JJ stands as far from the TV as possible, since electronics tend to mess with this kind of thing for reasons Marvin has definitely explained but Chase can’t remember for the life of him. Marvin prompts them to think of him and JJ, the relationship they have with both of them, and then starts chanting. A breeze picks up, blowing his hat straight off his head and promptly bowling over the newly-emerged Sam, causing them to yowl in alarm. Jackie jumps, Schneep curses, and with a sudden ‘snap!’, the energy in the room dissipates.

There’s a pause. Marvin’s eyes pop open, grin dimming when he looks at JJ in confusion. JJ himself is a mixture of confused disappointment and concern, craning his neck to try and get a peek at Sam. His eyes go wide from shock.

Chase looks back, expecting to see Sam’s tail sticking out from under one of the couches or rounding the corner or, hopefully not, dangling down from the top of the tallest shelf (they had mastered getting up but not quite getting down). Instead, he sees his cat, one paw pinning his hat to the ground, the other blocked by a small purple box. A box with words in it, kind of like an old-timey speech-slide.

‘Ah, another magic user! Just what we need. Let’s hope this one is less interested in dabbling on the dark side.’

“U-uh… Chase? Why’s yer cat talkin’ like a person?” Jackie’s mask is nearly falling off his face with how high his eyebrows are raised.

Marvin blinks, before a grin explodes across his face. “Chase has a cat? Ya got a cat an’ ya didn’t  _ tell me?!” _

He spins to look down at Sam, hands flapping in delight. And then he freezes. “Uh… Chase? Are ya aware tha’ yer cat’s magic?”

“Sam’s  _ what now?” _ Chase is reeling, staring down at the ball of fluff like he’s never seen them before. Their eyes, just as bright as that first day, blink up at him.

And then another speech slide appears. ‘I did mean to tell you.’

Chase… needs to sit down. Right now, immediately. The carpet breaks his fall as he staggers back and slides right off the edge of the couch.

“I leave for a few months and you pick up a  _ magic cat-- _ ”

“Ve did not know zhat ze cat vas magical!” Schneep is staring at Sam like they’ve grown an extra head. Though, now that he thinks about it, they never have acted like cats are supposed to-- he swears they’ve winked at him before, not to mention their habit of confiscating his pens when he goes too long without a break.

Okay, maybe they should’ve seen this coming.

‘I’m actually not sure if the cat  _ is  _ magical, inherently, or if my presence within the cat is what made them magical.’

Chase blinks hard. Once. Twice. “The… Are you… Not the cat?”

Sam’s ear twitches. They do an odd sort of shimmy that may be an attempt to shrug. ‘I’m sort of the cat. I’m also a District Attorney-- or I used to be.’

Chase drops his face into his hands, and, because he can’t do anything else, he laughs. A helpless sort of laugh that bubbles up from his stomach and refuses to stop.

A soft little head bumps up against his hands, and he laughs harder. “My cat, the former lawyer, is trying to comfort me.”

Someone snickers at that. At least someone can find humor in this.

Teeth clamp into his hand, not hard enough to cause any actual damage but certainly enough to make him move his hand.

Sam (or not, he supposes they must have a name of their own) stares up at him. Blinks once. Twice. ‘I’ve wanted to thank you, for a long time now. You saved me, kept me, gave me a home after I’d lost everything. You’ve no idea how much that means to me. Thank you, Chase Brody, for being an amazing person and friend.’

Chase doesn’t think anyone can judge him for the tears.

  
  


************

  
  


_ Life is much easier, now that you can speak again (and oh, how it feels good to let your sarcasm fly! For so long, only Sam could hear you, and cats don’t really…  _ get _ sarcasm). For example, it takes barely five minutes for you to convince them to focus on getting JJ a voice of his own, and then to remind them that it’s 4 AM and that sleep is a thing that people need. You stare down Jackie and Schneep in particular, who have worse sleep schedules than even Mark and Damien did back in school. And that is a  _ hard  _ bar to clear. _

_ You pause in Chase’s doorway, shifting on your paws as it occurs to you that, well, he probably doesn’t want a cat that he now knows is a person to curl up on his chest to sleep. _

_ The choice is made for you when he rolls his eyes, scoops you up, and plops you down on the bed next to him.  _ “Fer fuck’s sake, if yer uncomfortable fer yerself ya can leave but ya don’t have ta leave fer my benefit.”

_ It’s awkward, curling up with him when he knows you’re a person, when you feel more like yourself than you have in years. But then, he’s your friend, and you’re no stranger to snuggling your friends-- Hell, even excepting Damien and the whatever-could-have-been, you used to curl up with Mark when an audition would go south. Hell, you even found yourself with JJ a time or two when he and Mark would get into it-- _

_ JJ. _

_ You can talk to JJ. _

‘Chase, I’ll be back soon.’

_ He grunts questioningly, half-asleep. _

‘I need to talk to JJ.’

_ A slightly more awake and questioning grumble. This one almost has words. _

‘I used to know him. I can talk to him and he can talk to me and I need to go--’

_ Chase’s arm coils around you. _ “Sleep is a thing cats need, ya know. Let ‘im rest. Ya can talk tomorrow.”

_ You grumble and whine and, when all else fails, threaten to hide his hat for a month. He doesn’t let go. _

_ It’s a nice gesture and all, but you still hide his hat. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd now everyone knows the cat is a person! :D Foinally the title is relevant! I hope they have a pamphlet or something because these poor buds are gonna have a bit of an adjustment period.


	6. Portraits of Those Long Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase decides to go back to bed. Y/N has angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where the chapter name came from but it works I guess! Glad y'all seem to be liking this so far! :3

Sam is gone when he wakes up, well into the afternoon, and for a moment he fancies that he dreamed the whole thing and that his fuzzy lil dude will charge in from the other room, calling for food and snuggles.

By the time he gets to the kitchen, summoned by the scent of coffee and the sounds of people, he’s decided that he probably did dream that his cat is a person. He grabs a cup of coffee, dumps half the sugar bowl into it, adds a splash of milk, and turns around just in time to see Sam swipe a pen out of Schneep’s hand. He pulls out another. They grab this one with their teeth, drop it, and shove it off the counter. He reaches for one of the ones on the floor. A purple box appears in his way, firmly suggesting in a not-unthreatening way that he get some sleep while he still can.

Chase blinks. Takes a sip of his coffee. Decides to go back to bed.

  
  
  


*************

  
  


_ You find JJ in his studio. Even back in Freshman year, he’d been insanely talented, able to create breathtaking landscapes and Dorian-Grey-esque portraits in a shockingly short amount of time. And time has done nothing, you see, to steal away that talent. _

_ His studio is organized chaos, but far from messy. Every tool is in prime condition, lovingly cared for-- they just happen to cover every available surface with little to no rhyme or reason. _

_ You step inside and fall back in time. There, you see the café where you all celebrated him and Mark no longer being roommates. There, a professor who’d fought for you to be addressed by your proper pronouns and for JJ to be able to use his notecards rather than speaking in public. Places, people, things, portals to another time that’s lost to you forever. Lost to you  _ both  _ forever. It’s that thought that pulls you from your mournful crouch. JJ deserves to know he’s not alone. _

_ He’s working when you find him, on a canvas large enough for three people to lay on side by side without any trouble. There are four outlined, however, and rather than interrupt him (a terrible idea every time, and part of why he and Mark were such a disastrous pair), you settle in to wait. _

_ The only sound in the studio is JJ’s brush as it whispers across the canvas, turning his pencil outlines (more suggestions of people than actual figures) into more defined shapes. The first person is undoubtedly himself, frozen in a fit of giggles. The light is golden and warm, playing across painted buttons like real brass and highlighting the rosiness of his cheeks. You look between the two. If not for the odd gap in the portrait’s arm where it circles another figure, you could almost get the two confused. _

_ He finishes his self-portrait and sets about mixing, colors swirling together. With almost surgical focus, he adds hits of red, blue, brown, until he has half a dozen precisely blended pigments. As he paints, bringing life to the second figure, you note the posture, the curve of the chin, the coat Damien had bought you in your second year that you almost refused because it was so expensive but it was also so very  _ warm, _ and he’d grinned down at you and told you that he’d not have you freezing in just your sweater-- _

_Looks like he hasn't forgotten you. Even after all these years, he remembers the way you gestured when telling a story, the twist of your grin, the exact color of your eyes._

_ Cats cannot cry, and you’re sure that that’s the only reason you aren’t sobbing. All the same, you make a low, mournful noise before you can choke it back. _

‘Hello, my friend. I thought it might be you.’

_ JJ smiles down at you, so expressive, face damp with tears enough for both of you, and you curse again your inability to hug anyone. You do the next best thing and climb up onto his shoulders. You curl your tail up to avoid his palette. You look at him, and wonder again how he's here now, what happened in those intervening years to lead him to become... this. You blink. Questions can wait. _

‘Hello JJ. It’s very, very good to see you.’

_ That’s all that needs saying, for now. _

_ You leave when he starts mixing colors for Damien and Mark. He’s kind enough not to ask why. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look all I want is for JJ to have hobbies... and also forcing him to room with Mark is a hilarious idea to me because they're such different people. They were probably pleasant enough once they no longer had to share a living space, but I shudder to think of the two living together. Poor JJ, why did I do this to him XD

**Author's Note:**

> More to come shortly! Chapters are going to be short btw


End file.
